The Other Wiggin
by bonysteak
Summary: When the newly christened Andrew Wiggin turned out to be a miniature copy of Peter, but even more violent, the International Fleet's hand was forced. Time was running out. They couldn't risk a fourth child – they would take Peter and hope he had what it would take to defeat the Formics.


Peter was four when the little brother came home. He eyed it with a cold fury as his parents carried him, the tiny thing wrapped in a soft blue blanket, over to a newly bought crib. He hated him. He hated Andrew Wiggin already.

Even though the metal monitor was still there in the back of his neck, hearing what he heard, seeing what he saw, it didn't mean anything anymore. It would be coming out soon, because Peter was a failure. He hadn't met up to the standards of the International Fleet, and he was rejected from Battle School.

And that lump of flesh that his father was carrying was living proof that Peter hadn't been good enough.

His hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to race over to the baby Andrew and beat him within an inch of his life. Assert his position. But his rational mind soon trumped instinct. _The monitor's still in me, _he thought. _I still have a chance. I just need to prove to them that I'm better than Andrew. And they'll take me instead._

Valentine, his sister, was two. She was apparently the opposite of Peter, the nice one of the family. She tracked the baby's progress to his crib with bright, cheerful eyes. And by the time Andrew was gently placed into it, Valentine had toddled over, her hands gripping the small poles separating her from her new brother.

And little Andrew, with his eyes still closed shut, flung out a meaty arm. It caught on Valentine's hair, and his fingers closed around a clump. Valentine jerked back in surprise at the same time Andrew yanked the lock of hair forwards. It wasn't nearly enough strength to pull the hair out, since Andrew was just a newborn baby, but it was enough to cause Valentine a nasty shock of pain. She cried out.

Their parents had instantly picked her up, the mother stroking her hair, the father speaking soothing words. Tears streamed down Valentine's cheeks. Her monitor gleamed on the back of her neck.

And while this was all going on, Peter walked over to the crib. He stared down at his new baby brother, expressionless. But down under, he was wrapped in a turmoil of hatred and disgust. _You were allowed to be born because they thought I wasn't good enough, _he thought darkly. _You tiny bastard. They're going to take you and not me. But they'll be wrong. I'll prove to them that I'm the better deal. _He didn't say any of this out loud, because then the monitor would pick it up. And the idiotic International Fleet soldiers would misinterpret it, as usual. They were stupid, and Peter was not. But to get into Battle School, he'd have to get on their good side.

"Third," he spat at Andrew, and left. They would hear that, and Peter's record would diminish a little. But it felt good.

* * *

><p>Two years passed. Peter was now six. Over the period of time, he had attempted to be as kind and charismatic as possible. The teachers loved him. He had a collection of worshippers at school, kids his age who gazed at him with twinkling eyes. <em>He's so smart and nice! <em>they often told their friends. _Peter Wiggin is the best!_

And Peter would warm up a little at the praise. He would never admit how much it meant to him. He was kind and polite to his parents, and tried to be nice to Valentine.

But Andrew.

He had a little monitor in the back of his neck as well. So the International Fleet was tracking him too. And Valentine's had come out, she had washed out of Battle School a year ago.

But Peter still had his. It made him wonder why. They'd already asked his parents to have a third child, which was a clear sign that Peter had failed. So why was he still on the program? Why did they let him keep his monitor?

And the answer was obvious. Andrew Wiggin was a violent baby. Valentine liked to spend her days after school in his room, and she'd always end up in tears when she came out. Their parents would always investigate the room, but Andrew would already be fast asleep. They'd shrug and assume something outside of Andrew's power had happened. Valentine and their parents thought Andrew was an angel, and thus could never harm Valentine in such a way.

But the monitor saw everything. And Andrew had one. Even if his family couldn't see what he did, the International Fleet would.

Why did Peter want to get into Battle School so badly? It was a school for talented, gifted children like him. He saw the way the older kids looked at him with envy when they passed him in the hallways – his monitor was fairly visible, poking out from his uniform collar.

And one day he came home from school, buried deep in his own thoughts, when he noticed the International Fleet car in the driveway of his home. He took an interest in it immediately, his heart rate quickening ever so slightly.

_They're going to feel that, _Peter thought. He still had the monitor. They would notice that he had gotten excited at seeing the car.

But the car was for him. Who else would the I.F. come for? Andrew? Peter almost laughed aloud at his own stupidity. He didn't have to act like a perfect child anymore. They had come because they were ready to take him.

Or they were ready to ask for a fourth child.

Peter's heart rate slowed.

He was being careless in his excitement. The I.F. could have come for all sorts of reasons. Why would they take Peter? If Peter was good enough, they wouldn't have asked for Andrew the Third to be born.

But then again, why did Peter still have his monitor?

Peter chastised himself. He went over these exact same thoughts a hundred times a day. Who cared what the I.F. thought? They were all idiots anyways. There would be no way to understand their ridiculous train of thought.

Ridiculous train of thought, indeed, when Peter entered the kitchen and found his entire family sitting around the table, and two I.F. officers standing next to them. They had been waiting for him. Valentine sitting in between their mother and father, and Andrew sleeping soundly in their father's lap. But it was all a ruse. Andrew was every bit as smart as Peter and Valentine, and far more aggressive, far more violent and calculating. He was faking sleep. For what reason, Peter did not know. He was even harder to understand than Peter himself.

"Peter Wiggin." The taller officer extended a hand forward. Peter shook, trying not to reveal any contempt. It would suck to come on the verge of being accepted to Battle School and then screwing things up at the end.

_You're jumping to conclusions, _Peter told himself. _Expect the worst. They're here for something else. I'm not going to Battle School._

_But I'm the perfect age. They go up at six. I'm six, and the I.F. is in my kitchen._

"After much discussion and contemplation, we are here on behalf of the International Fleet to tell you that we have accepted you into Battle School."

And that was it. The words that Peter had dreamt of hearing for six long years, the words that he had worked so tirelessly to have uttered to him.

"I'll go," he said immediately.

The shorter officer raised an eyebrow. "That was quick. No hesitation? Won't you miss your family?"

Peter looked at the man with cold eyes, hiding all his emotions. Just a blank, steady stare. To let them know who they were talking to. Peter Wiggin was not a baby, and he would not allow anyone to treat him like one.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on getting Peter's monitor out and some talk between the I.F. officers and Peter's parents. Peter was sitting on one of the couches in the family room, buried in his own thoughts, when Valentine came over and sat down rather awkwardly right next to him. So close that their legs touched. Peter was surprised; she had never shown much affection towards her in the years they had together.

"So you're going to Battle School," she said, putting her hand on his. "Dream come true, huh?"

Peter couldn't help it. He smiled faintly. "Appears so. Looks like I'm going and the Third's not. Wonder why."

Valentine's face darkened. She was only four, but she held herself like an adult. "He's so violent. Even more than you."

"Oh bother," Peter said. "The little baby is such a menace."

"It's not funny, Peter," Valentine said. "He's like a miniature copy of you. They're out of time, and they can't afford to ask for a fourth child. So they're going to take you instead. They have no choice."

Peter shrugged her words off, but in truth, they had kind of hurt. She was implying that the I.F. chose him simply because he was the oldest, not because he was the best. He felt the bandage on his neck. The monitor had come out an hour ago.

"Well I'm going to make sure that it's the best choice they've ever made." Peter stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He felt slightly shocked when he nearly bumped into the taller officer in the doorway. He nodded.

"Glad to see the sentiment," he said, nodding. He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder.

Goose bumps erupted up Peter's arm. He did not enjoy the man touching him. But he'd hold it in, because he had just been complimented.

He had one last dinner together with his family, a quiet, quick meal, and then it was time to go. His mother cried and held Peter close, while his father stood solemnly beside her.

Peter wrapped his arms around his mother, which brought on renewed sobs. He rarely ever showed signs of affection. He refused to admit it, but he would actually miss his family.

"Bye, Peter, dear," his mother whispered.

"We are proud of you," said his father.

"Don't fail!" cried Andrew. He was learning new words quickly for a baby.

And then Valentine did something astonishing. She walked up to Peter and kissed him on the cheek. Then she retreated for cover behind their mother.

He left the house for the last time, an officer on each side of him, feeling as if he were moving through a dream.


End file.
